


Unopened

by Flaminea



Series: The Cousland King and Ryan "Prince Charming" Hawke [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Funny, Teen Romance, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:12:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5351933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flaminea/pseuds/Flaminea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Cailan will always be known as the last acknowledged son of the great Maric Thierin. He will always be the King who has died on Ostagar's battlefield, leaving Ferelden deep in chaos.<br/>Anora Mac Tir, the daughter of a commoner, will always be known as King Cailan's wife, the woman unable to give Ferelden an heir and, someone whispered, the one who really pulled the strings of the kingdom. </p><p>What the scholars won't ever know is what Cailan and Anora were to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JayRain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayRain/gifts).



> This story was written as part of the Secret Santa Story Exchange. 
> 
> So... Surprise!
> 
> Merry Christmas, JayRain!  
> I hope it's the present you were hoping for :)

# UNOPENED

 

**Spring**

 

Born a noble, grown a queen, and yet none of them ever really treated her as she would have deserved.  
Every single Teyrn had knelt before my Queen's sarcophagus, Grand Cleric Elemena had blessed her corpse and asked the Maker to guide her safely by His side. Perhaps, her death has become her actual triumph.  
I came into her service when she was eleven, still a child but at the same time a queen already. Just by looking at her, I could tell she was destined to many great things. She would have, had she made other choices.  
First, there had been King Cailan: yes, a woman doesn't have the right to choose her own husband, but a smart one can find ways to keep him at bay from time to time. I told her to not trust him. I had seen right through him: a charming ladies' man, a boy at heart. But she didn't listen to me: she was smart, sly, but in the end her heart has beaten louder than my warnings could ever have been.  
Then, Dane Cousland, the Hero of Ferelden, and his marriage proposal had come into her life. I assured her she was powerful enough to win over every Bann with her mere presence. I recommended her to reject him: how could the savior of Thedas not overshadow her, or anyone for that matter? He would have been Prince Consort only by name. King Cailan had robbed her of the standing she would have deserved through his charisma and his smile, Dane Cousland did the same simply by being himself. The Hero.  
My Queen and King Dane had chosen to offer the rebel mages sanctuary in the Arling of Redcliffe. She never told me, but I'm sure it was his idea: I know how he looked at that black-haired apostate mage, I've seen him. And the worst part is that she knew too, but instead of standing by herself she had walked to the altar hand in hand with him. King Cailan's final affair and death had broken something inside of her, and she has become a shadow of herself since. Oh, she hid it perfectly. To the world, she was an iron lady and the perfect, dignified ruler. But I knew. When the Hero disappeared, she could have gained back it all. But my Queen needed the Inquisition to protect herself against the Venatori's assassination attempts. Left alone on the throne and with her ghosts, she didn't manage to stop the Red Templars from establishing their hidden port on the Storm Coast. However, when she finally stepped up and banished I thought our Queen was back in business.

One week later, she has died in her sleep, a peaceful smile on her lips. 

One could almost say she had succumbed to her own heartache, two miscarriages and the shattering of every single dream. Her ruin has a name: Cailan.

Now, I've been ordered to clean up her quarters. I am to pile up every dress of her, every piece of jewel, every letter. Each of them sings a note to me: I've been only her maid, but I've seen her walk every single step. All that's left is what I call Cailan's drawer: the space in which my Queen has locked what was left of her one love. The locks click open, and I start emptying the drawer. As I place a heap of tunics on the bed, something falls off, on the floor. She has written so many letters that I'd recognize the paper's rustling anywhere. This one, though, is still sealed: under by fingertips I feel the fissures of time.

_From Cailan,_

_to Anora_

The writing on the exterior is clear. This was meant for my Queen's eyes, but I doubt she ever opened it. Probably she didn't even know of it: when he died, she ordered me to lock up the drawer and keep the key.  
I know I should bring it to Teyrn Fergus Cousland, or Teyrn Teagan Guerrin. But she has never confided in them, and I have no intention of betraying her trust. She has always confided in me. So I break the sigil, and I start reading.

_My dear Anora,_

_you must despise me, and I understand if you do._

_I can only hope that you'll be willing to listen when I'll come back from Ostagar._

_As hard as it could be, please believe me: it's not what it seems..._

**§§**

****

**_We were young, and wild, and free_ **

_9:13 Dragon_  
_Denerim, Royal Gardens_

Walking along the gravel path of the gardens of Denerim's Royal Palace, Anora counted the pebbles: every single step had to be as long as the previous. The hem of her blue silk dress swished on the ground at every step. She focused on the sound: moderate swish could mean a good step, an excessive swish could mean one excessively long.  
“Anora. Don't look down. You are almost twelve, you're not a child anymore. And you will be Queen one day, so you have to walk straight and proud” her father admonished her.  
The daughter of the Teyrn of Gwaren quietly raised her head to look at his father's stern face. She focused on keeping the chin in the right angle with her neck. Every gesture had to be contemplated and measured. “Yes, father” Anora replied.  
Discreetly, she admired the gardens of Denerim Royal Palace: the rose bushes, the tall trees. Her gaze, however, remained mostly in front of her, which allowed her to notice a tall, blonde, middle-aged man walking towards them. He was wearing no insignia, nevertheless her father and the servant who was walking with them immediately knelt. Anora's education kicked in, prompting her in performing a perfect curtsy.  
“Loghain! You're well in advance. After all, you were never known as a latecomer!” the man greeted, a cheerful smile on his lips. Next she knew, he had raised her chin gently, smiling directly at her. “And you must be Cailan's future wife, Anora. I'm King Maric, child. And” he stopped her from curtsying again, swinging his index finger “don't even try that again. Manners are a necessity, but unless my entourage is looking at us, I don't need any curtsy.”.  
Struck dumb, Anora stared at King Maric, her blue eyes fixed on his face.  
Her father, who was now standing straight, was looking blankly at the King. The King's only answer was putting an arm around his shoulders. “Come, Loghain. We have some catching up to do. You can leave your daughter here in the gardens, your servant will take care of her”. 

Anora looked at his father and the King walking away.  
She kept walking calmly, her elven servant just a few steps behind her, until a roses' bush drew her attention. Anora stared at it in surprise: those were blue roses, a kind she had never seen before. Mesmerized, she moved her hand to touch a blue petal, only to be distracted by a group of royal servants passing in a rush. They were looking around as if they were searching for something. The moment Anora turned back to the bush, she distinguished a boy's face, masked behind the stem's maze: without a word, the boy touch the tip of his nose with his index finger, asking her to not reveal his position. He curved his lips into a conspiratorial smile. Despite her intentions, Anora shut her mouth. No one ever had shared with her a true smile, let alone a conspiratorial one, no one ever had ever seen behind her Teyrn's daughter facade. She had never shared a secret with anyone.  
Her elven servant had knelt to examine a yellow flower growing into a near flowerbed. Without a thought, Anora slipped behind the bush, side by side with the mystery boy. He was blond, obviously younger than her, rich dressed.  
“What are you doing here? Why are you hiding?” she asked.  
The blond boy smirked. “They want to dress me up like a doll. My father, the King” he proudly told her, pausing and staring at her, as if he was waiting for her to look impressed “says I'll meet my future bride today. I told him that girls are a boring nuisance I can do without, but he doesn't listen to me.”  
Speechless, Anora didn't say a word. She had never met a child like that one, no one had taught her how to deal with such an earnest demeanor.  
He made a face. “You don't look boring. Are you sure you are a girl?” he inquired, looking doubtful.  
Anora proudly lifted her chin and fastened her feet. “I am Anora Mac Tir, daughter of Loghain Mac Tir, Teyrn of Gwaren” she proclaimed.  
In response, the boy smiled brightly and took a blue rose from the bush. Offering her the rose, he kissed the back of her hand as a gentleman would have done. “I am Cailan” he introduce himself. When he smiled at her once again, she felt her cheeks getting warm. “It looks like my father chose the only girl in the world who's not a nuisance.”

 

_9:17 Dragon_  
_Gwaren Palace, Library_

He and Anora needed to come in contact with their subjects, his father had said. A ruler could be either loved or feared, preferably and when possible loved. So, he and Loghain had organized a tour to cover every Ferelden Bannorn and Arling: accompanied by his father and Loghain, they had met several nobles, and every single one of them had admired Anora's grace and elegance, to the point that she had become his model to look upon while in doubt in terms of social contexts. Whenever he hadn't been sure how to address someone, Cailan had imitated Anora's demeanor and the same shining light surrounding her had extended to him as well. His betrothed had grown up into some sort of alien, perfect creature, someone able to daunt him. Sometimes, he could still see glimpses of the playful Anora he had come to know as a child: a lovely dress, a peculiar flower or the right book still lighted her up in excitement in the most genuine manner.  
Even though she looked nothing like a child now. The awareness had struck him the moment Arl Eamon had kissed his bride, Isolde, right after Her Grace had declared them husband and wife in front of the Maker. Cailan had turned towards Anora, suddenly conscious that one day he, too, would have had to stand in front of the Maker with her by his side. More than once, while they were traveling to Gwaren, Cailan had found himself thinking about Anora's beautiful, always peaceful face. Ever since, he had kept discovering something new in her features, something he had not noticed before: how her intricated braids revealed the curve of her neck, her dimples showing when she smiled, the gracefulness of her steps, and even the shape of her breasts.  
And now, hiding behind the Gwaren library's door jamb he was spying on her like a pervert. Sitting on a bench, with Erlina beside her, she seemed to be examining a tome; now that the tour was over and she was back at her home, she wore simpler, but still classy dresses. The beacons' light bathed her into a haunting light.  
“Erlina, would you be so kind to get the book a left on my bed?” he heard Anora asking her elven maid. Enchanted by Anora's figure, Cailan didn't immediately realize that upon exiting the library Erlina would have discovered him hiding. Hearing the elf approaching, he panicked. In an effort of trying to act casual, he straightened up, joined his hands behind his back and turned his back on the library, like someone who was simply walking along the corridor. As a result, he almost bumped into Erlina.  
The elven maid bowed, uncomfortably eying him. “Prince Cailan. I am so sorry” she exclaimed.  
There he was, in front of a servant, and yet he knew he was blushing in embarrassment. Even worse, he was at a loss of words while a servant of him was waiting for his permission to leave.  
Finally, Erlina raised her gaze, shot him a suspicious look and left to complete the task Anora had assigned her. 

“Come in, Cailan. Don't stand stock-still” Anora invited him, a warm smile on her lips. She patted her hand on the seat beside hers.  
Those lips. All of a sudden, he didn't seem able to look at his childhood friend without feeling confused and shaken. “Of course” he quickly answered, setting foot inside the library and sitting on her same bench. She was sitting properly, her hands joined upon her legs. Once again he wondered when she had become so perfect while he was but a clumsy boy. She looked like a true queen, and he...  
“Anora?” Cailan whispered. He didn't dare to look at her, afraid to blush again. He looked at those printed words without actually seeing them.  
“Yes?” she simply replied, clearly waiting for him to speak. She calmly turned the page.  
“Do you think I will be a good king?” he inquired, all in one breath.  
He had expected a scolding, a shocked look or even an exasperated sigh. Anora did nothing like that. Instead, he felt her warm hand on his, and when he looked into her eyes he saw her gentle smile. “You are the son of the man who had freed us from Ferelden, whose Queen, your mother Rowan, had fought by his side. How could you not be the king Ferelden needs? Blood will tell, Cailan.”  
When she reassuringly squeezed his hand, he almost lost his breath. Gulping, he nodded. She always knew what to say and how to act, so it had to be true. “Will you help me, Anora?” Cailan asked.  
In response, she quizzically stared at him. As he saw her disclosing her lips, ready to talk, he hastened to explain himself. “I mean, you seem to know how to talk to Arls and Banns already. You're so polite, so capable when engaged in conversation. And you move so graciously...”. He silently cursed, shutting his mouth before he could disclose some less innocent thoughts.  
However, if Anora had noticed anything at all she was hiding it pretty well. She let out a brief, silvery laugh. “That's what queens are for. We exist to support our husbands” she simply stated.  
Her words placated his angst. Did that mean she would never have left him?  
Oblivious to his internal turmoil, she turned another page and immediately pointed at a painting covering half the page. “Look, Cailan! That's your mom and dad!” she exclaimed. She briefly studied him before smiling again. “You have her eyes, you know?”.  
Cailan heard her as if he was surrounded by a bubble: he saw her lips moving, but instead of listening to her, he found himself enthralled by the way they were moving. Prompted to obey her, he bent his head to look more closely at the painting, and when she bent down too he could almost feel her breath on his cheek. Endless times they had been that close, while in hiding and trying to avoid having to attend a boring lesson: but this time, it was like any other. Before Cailan could even think it through, he felt compelled to savor her breath: as his lips landed on hers, he tasted their softness and for a couple of seconds nothing else aside her existed.  
A moment later, Anora had retreated. Staring at him in shock, her fingers covering her mouth, she looked frozen except for her reddened cheeks.  
No coherent thought passed through Cailan's mind. As much as he struggled, his mouth was arid and he may as well had had his tongue cut off. Stumbling over his own feet, he ran away, wondering every step how to look at her without feeling ashamed and how could he apologize. 

 

**_I'll take you as you are_ **

 

_9:23 Dragon_  
_Redcliffe Castle_

Anora stared at the tiny, gracious bowl in front of her. Out of curiosity, she briefly touched the pottery: it wasn't hot. When she raised her eyes, Cailan was still looking at her in excitement: she couldn't see his hand as they were hidden under the breakfast table, but she knew he was tiptoeing upon his knees, as he always did when he was impatient. Half-smiling, the blonde almost-queen decided to tantalize him a little bit more. She lifted up lid enough to smell the content, her eyes closed. And she smelled sugar.  
“Come on, Anora! I had them prepared just for you!” Cailan exclaimed. His tone was filled with childish impatience, which vanished into a manly, charming smile. “Don't I deserve to know what pleases my to-be-Queen?”.  
Anora heartily laughed. Despite all his flaws, he still had a way in getting what he wanted. However, the moment she set eyes on the bowl's content she fell breathless. It was full of blue roses' petals frosted in sugar. As she bit the thin petal, the sugar melted on her tongue and mixed with the velvety, a bit tart rose's flavor. She met Cailan's eyes, now shimmering with satisfaction. He didn't need to ask whether she had liked it or not.  
Reaching her side, he softly took her hand into his, kissing her palm. Nothing more than a lips brush, but it still gave her pleasant goosebumps.  
“You can taste those sugar-coated roses' petals as often as you wish. All you have to do is ask” he whispered. Without rush, his eyes locked into hers, Cailan left her quarters. 

Before he disappeared, closing the door behind him, she rewarded him with a brief smile.  
As time went by, Cailan had turned from a shy, clumsy and insecure young boy into a charming, brilliant and self-confident man. Even too much self-confident.  
The rest of the world might not be able to see behind his cocky smile and his impeccable manners, but Anora knew. She was the one who had raised him up. After that first, clumsy kiss and her shocked reaction, Cailan had taken his distance from her and started looking at her like she was some sort of deity, someone necessarily out of touch. Every time their diction and etiquette instructor had commanded them to execute a certain exercise, Cailan had looked at her, shameful for not being as good as her. But she had always been taught than queens existed to support their husbands: so, she had taken upon herself to teach him every good manner she was aware of, and to make sure that the next king wouldn't have become a weak, powerless man. And she had been successful. Once Cailan had understood how much she believed in him, he had started improving day after day: so much that he had soon been able to sate his need of approval and success through women's admiring eyes. The Cailan who had walked into Redcliffe Castle's main hall, presenting the royal present for Connor Guerin's third birthday, looked like a complete and utter man.  
But Anora knew. Even though Cailan was old enough to charm elven servants to his bed, to shine with royalty or to court her like any other man, she knew that behind that mask rested a naïve, kind and unsuspecting soul, a child at heart. Three dangerous qualities for a king, as gentle can turn into weak in the blink of an eye. Still, that same kindness was the reason why she had grown fond of him: all in all, he was the better husband she could have hoped for. He treated her as a person and not a property, he often surprised her with thoughtful gifts. His flings didn't matter: after all, he was a man and man had needs, and he was also wise enough to keep his brief affairs silent.  
Cailan needed her by his side. She would have been able to guide him through the treacherous waters of the art of ruling. 

 

_9:25 Dragon_  
_Denerim, Royal Quarters_

Cailan stretched the violet, embroidered jerkin. He had settled for that one – violet was royalty's color, after all – but know it seemed somewhat excessive. The man inside the mirror wasn't him. Too gentle to call back his servants for the tenth time, he was aware that no piece of cloth had the power to make him look like his father. And perhaps he didn't even deserve that. He looked inside the mirror once again and what he saw was a scared boy, whose face was drawn and tired. And yet, Ferelden needed a King, and he had to be that king: not some lost boy still in mourning.  
A discreet knock on the door startled him. Was it time already? Cailan took a look to the same violet, fur-bordered cloak that his father had worn at his coronation.  
Another knock. A knock he would have recognized anywhere: soft enough to be respectful, loud enough to be heard. “Come in” he said, as relief was filling his chest.  
Anora quietly stepped into the room, surveying him with a concerned look. To him, she was shining: it may have been her silver silk dress embroidered with a golden flowered pattern, but he was pretty sure it wasn't all. Simply put, she was the only one who could soothe his anxiety, and perhaps his pain.  
“Our guards will be here soon” she announced, taking a step towards him. “Are you alright, Cailan?” she inquired.  
For a moment, just for a moment, looking at her he forgot all his troubles. For a single moment her bare arms, crowned by those puffball sleeves, and that round, laced neckline, were all he needed. Those arms were his safe anchor, that neckline was all the beauty he desired. Then, he met her blue, worried glare and he was back to the present.  
“I don't know, Anora” Cailan confessed in a whisper. In doing so, he didn't feel the need to avoid her eyes. “It doesn't feel right. I look at myself and I don't see a King. I see an orphan.”  
In response, she lifted the royal cloak placing it upon his shoulders. She rested her chin on his arm, her arms around his neck and the soft pressure of her breasts against his back. “No one will blame you for missing your father, Cailan. Certainly not me” she softly stated. “And the reason why I see a King inside the mirror is the same reason why you miss him. Your sensibility. That's the reason why you may make some mistakes, but also the virtue that will earn you our subjects' love.”  
Her sweet tone and her reassuring words slowly removed some of his anguish from his chest. Now, breathing seemed easier. That embrace had become his only safe harbor.  
“I wish I was like you, Anora. You're so strong, so controlled. You never falter” Cailan admitted. He was speaking the truth. He trusted her and her knowledge more than any of his counselors. While those pretty servants saw the shining king, she saw the man.  
Anora shook her head. “You don't need to be like me, because I will always stay by your side. We're in this together, and we can face it hand in hand. As husband and wife.” Her hand found his, and he held it like it was his only anchor.  
When he turned, he managed a smile. A small one, but maybe it would have been enough for all those folks outside who were waiting for him and Anora.  
“Let's go get crowned, then” Cailan exclaimed. He didn't leave her hand until the guards knocked, and it was with her by his side that he faced the world with the eyes of a King.


	2. Winter

**Winter**

****

**_A sweetness about you_ **

_9:28 Dragon_  
_Denerim, Queen Anora's quarters_

Anora awoke to those familiar cramps that, during the whole last three days, she had hoped to not experience. Aware of how laying down made it worse for her, she laid her back on the big, tender pillows beside her head. The other side of the bed was empty, of course: recently Cailan had been so busy in organizing Empress Celene's visit that they barely had had time to sleep together. But today, due to the possibility of a pregnancy, he had insisted for her to enjoy some rest. Sadly, he had been right about only one thing: she was tired enough to not even had heard him leaving the room, despite her desire to counter-insist by getting ready for a new day by his side.  
Yawning, still half asleep, Anora looked around the room; and just when she was rubbing her eyes she noticed them. A book and a note had been left on her night table.  
She didn't need to open the note to know who was the sender. When she broke the sigil, she was half smiling already. 

_Anora,_

_I knew you were ready to wake up at dawn like I did, so I got ready for the day even before dawn,_

_when I was sure you were sleeping soundly. Is it cheating? Perhaps._

_But it still got my Queen to enjoy some more sleep. I've seen how worried you look, so you needed it._

_I'll see you tonight, Anora. I plan on having dinner with you in your quarters. Let me know if you feel unwell._

_Meanwhile, I left you something to help the clock go fast._

_Cailan_

Anora stashed the letter together with the other notes of her husband, then examined the book. It was a novel, one of those sappy, sentimental novels she recently had found herself to be of her liking. When Cailan had found that his serious, zealous wife, the woman responsible for half his education, was into romance novels had laughed at first. Later on, he had asked her what she liked about those stories: anyone else would have made fun of her, silently or not. Not him. He was interested in her taste. She had told him the simple truth: those novels were like a relaxing realm for her, a realm where she could also be one of those careless heroines.  
But there was something she hadn't said. How she sometimes wished to be one of those fictional women because they were not afraid to fall in love. Not even a single bit.  
Anora caressed the leathered cover of the book.  
She hadn't told him how his attentions and her kindness warmed her inside, not even why his carefree attitude was the reason why she had stuck with him. It had been, and still was, the reason why he needed her bits of advice, but in time it had become the reason why she had grown fond of him. In exchange for her assistance, he offered her a cheerful attitude towards life.  
Despite Cailan's affairs, she felt grateful towards him. Those girls got no gifts from him, nor any preferential treatment. But above all, not many wives could claim to be kissed with the same passion reserved for their wedding night. And she was maybe the only queen to not get anxious in finding out she wasn't with child and to trust her king in not calling her a disgrace for that. He would have happily spent more time with her, basked in the eternal optimistic thought that as a Theirin he would not have failed in producing an heir.  
And somehow, just looking at him she was able to believe the same.

 

_9:28 Dragon_  
_Denerim, King Cailan's quarters_

The soft squeaking of the mattress and the girl's accelerated breath were the only sounds in the room.  
His eyes closed, Cailan could feel her grasp upon his shoulders and the grip of her legs around him as she efficiently rode him. Up, down. Up, down. She's been at it for several minutes now, but her rhythm hasn't changed at all: her movements haven't fastened nor slowed down at all. Now she was moaning in that fake way some women used in trying to entice their partners. She was certainly trying, maybe giving her best try, but the whole matter was turning out dull and inexpressive. Even the undeniable softness of her thighs is not enough.  
Cailan opened his eyes, laying his hands on the mattress and earning a quizzical look from the elven maid he was now looking at.  
“That's enough. Just leave, I'll let you know if I'll need your services again” he commanded.  
The maid straightened up, bowing at him, an amused smile on her lips. “As you command, my king. You know I'm at your disposal”. She shot him another glance before bending over to retrieve her dresses. Her smile and her declaration filled him with excitement more than her moves had done: after years and years as the clumsy, awkward one, he finally had charm and power. He was the King of Ferelden. As he watched the elven maid leave the room, a bitter awareness rose inside him. First and foremost he was the King, and his being charming and handsome was nothing but a bonus. Women would have come to him, maybe even offered their bodies, even if he was a gouty dwarf should that earn them to get in the King's good graces.  
All in all, it's no surprise that those rides felt like a performed duty.  
Duty.  
And what about Anora? Was it nothing more than a duty for her too? He still remembered what she had said eleven years ago. That's what queens are for. We exist to support our husbands. Even though now he was free to kiss her, hold her hand and lay with her in bed as a wife and a husband were meant to, he never forgot that first kiss and how she had rejected him. Ever since he had never stopped wanting her. But that failed kiss had tainted every attempt of courting her, put a cloud over every single surprised, cheerful, positive reaction of her. That failed kiss was the main reason why he had started seducing and bedding other women. That failed kiss had frozen him in a time where he was a twelve years old clod and she an unattainable goddess to worship and his northern star. It was the reason why he had been so surprised when, during their wedding nights, she had approached him and placed her lips on his. While any other girl was like a chunk of flesh, she was touch, smell, sight, taste and sound.  
But had it been affection or duty?  
Cailan was no fool. He knew when he had to get a hold on something, so he had never let go of the only woman ready to accept him as he was without never asking more. He had always offered her the best he could, his affection as well as his thoughtfulness, above all treating her as a person and not a breeding machine or a useful counselor. She was her best friend, the best wife he could have hoped for and the reason why he had become, and was becoming such an influential King, so he owed her that much. He was not blind either, he could see how warm she had grown towards him and how much she appreciated his attention. He could feel it in her muscles and see it her eyes every time they made love.  
In spite of all that, the ghost of that failed kiss kept on he couldn't stop wondering whether hers was affection or duty.  
Why should someone like him even bother to hope that a woman like Anora, so high above him, could actually return his feelings? He knew where he belonged, and he was content with giving her all the happiness he could and having her by her side. They were happy as it was, and asking for her love could mess up their hard-earned balance and drive her away. He simply couldn't afford to take the risk and lose the only meaningful variable of her life, the one without which he would have crumbled: her. 

Sighing, Cailan stood up. While he was getting dressed, his eyes fell upon the unopened letter on his desk and he immediately recognized Empress Celene's handwriting. Somehow, he had to banish those grim thoughts and concentrate on a reply: Celene was the only royal he was able to handle without Anora's help, and he did quite well too. She was, after all, a woman and he had learned what women wanted. Except for the only one that mattered, of course. Grimacing, he broke the sigil and began reading. 

 

**_What have you done, what have I done_ **

 

_9:30 Dragon_  
_Denerim, Royal Gardens_

The air smelled of summer, screaming of the return of life after a harsh winter, a thousand stars were beaming in the sky and the whole Royal Garden burst with newly born flowers, ready to enjoy the hot season. They made Anora feel even more wilted and old. She looked at the stars, praying for a shooting star to cross the sky and She wished she'd never entered Cailan's room. She wished she could cancel that sight from her memory.  
She clenched her first so hard that she almost stuck her nails into the palm's skin. Then, the sound of crumpling paper reached her ears. The pain deriving from her nails' pressure went completely unnoticed, while that cursed letter sang to her, repeating once again what she had read already.

_My lovely Empress,_

In her mind, all pieces matched. Cailan's refusal when she had offered her advice in the matter of maintaining a diplomatic relationship with Orlais, his stubbornness in taking care of it by himself. The way he had danced with Empress Celene during the Satinalia.

_I couldn't possibly say how much the Ferelden court enjoyed your presence here during the last Satinalia. Had I the power to dictate my country's fashion, I swear, I would order every lady of the court to imitate your charming style._

The image of Cailan and the Empress dancing in front of the whole court blazed in front of her.  
Cailan leading the Empress to the dance floor, his hand holding hers, announcing everyone how Ferelden and Orlais were now, more than ever, allies. Empress Celene's radiant smile as she was staring at her husband. Cailan turning towards her and kissing her hand in announcing her a welcome guest. Her gracious curtsey and the way she had locked her eyes into him as she thanked him and confirmed the newborn friendship between the two countries. The way his arm had enclosed her wasp-waist. How, almost casually, her fingers had brushed Cailan's neck before finding their place upon his shoulder.  
Anora had always considered herself a good dancer, but the sight of the Empress' gracious, light step and her flowered gown twirling around had made her feel like an old woman, a Queen unable to stand in the crowd as she should have. The Empress looked so young and fresh. What about herself? When had she aged that much?  
Part of her had rebelled at that public humiliation: how had he dared? Sure, he was free to lead to his bed every servant, but playing along to the Empress' subtle flirting in front of the court was a downright insult. But sadly, in all honesty, she couldn't blame Cailan for ogling at her.  
A veil of tears covered the couple and washed away the past, leaving only the painful grasp of the present.

_How in the world are you still unmarried, I wonder?_

She could almost hear all those whispers. About how she was getting old, how she was uncapable to give Ferelden an heir, how perhaps the King should disavow her search for a younger, more fertile wife. That feeling cut deep inside her. Maybe Cailan was finally determined to please their subjects, after all. There was no other possible reason for mentioning the Empress' nubile state.

_Which brings me to the matter of your name-day. Wouldn't it be improper if Orlais' new ally failed in sending a present to its Empress? I know you love surprises, but could I ask for just an hint about what you would like to be gifted? Please, do tell, one single, harmful clue._

_However..._

Anora threw the letter away. Ignoring the tears wetting her cheeks, she wondered what Cailan had meant to write after that last word.  
Could she have possibly done something, anything to keep him by her side? Maybe, if she hadn't distanced him after that refusal of advice he wouldn't have run into the Empress' arms, or at least attempted a clarification, if she had just admitted that she was jealous of that younger, more beautiful woman, he would have...  
Anora turned. Beside her was there was the blue roses' bush she had personally taken care of. The bush where she and Cailan had first met. The flowers used for preparing her roses' petals frosted in sugar. In a fit of rage, Anora savaged the bush. She tore off petals, stems, leaves. Every destroyed rose was a shout inside her head. Stupid, fool, idiot, dumb Anora. To think that she had entered his quarters to tell him the truth, how he felt and what he felt for him because the darkspawn could take him away. Stupid, fool, idiot, dumb Anora.  
Two strong hands held her wrists, preventing her from damaging the flowers further. Panting, she met his father's eyes with hers and only then saw the blood rushing down her hands. And once again she was a child in need of reassurance, protection, security. Anora held her father into a tight hug, whispering into his ear all her pain and her loneliness. When she was done talking, he let her cry in a way he never had allowed when she was a child.  
“I'll take care of it, my little girl. Don't worry” he murmured.  
Her father was her hero, her whole world once again.

 

_9:30 Dragon_  
_Ostagar, Battlefield_

The battlefield was enveloped into the silence preceding the battle, the calm before the storm would have overthrown many of those men's life. For several of them, those were the last minutes before their death.  
Not for Cailan. He had a reason to come home victorious, and that reason was Anora.

His gaze remained fixed on the horizon, but his mind was all set on the night before the march towards Ostagar. When he had returned from the last war council before the march, the guard had informed him that the Queen had come searching for him, and had waited for him inside his quarters for a while. The mere thought of Anora come to bid him good luck had soothed his anxiety: given how much their relationship had gone damp in the last few months, perhaps not everything was lost. Perhaps she was ready to give him her blessing. Perhaps he would have held her in his arms again before dawn.  
Then, he had noticed how the letter he was writing to the Empress had gone missing and a cloud of angst and terror had punched him right in the stomach. He had rushed out of his quarters, banging at Anora's door, imploring her to let him inside, to give him a chance to talk to to her, to explain. There had been no answer, but he had refused to give up. He had knocked, shouted, called Anora's name. In the end the door had opened, only enough to show Erlina's face. Stiffly, almost insolently, she had informed him that the Queen didn't wish to see him. When Cailan had tried to insist, Erlina had shot him such a cold, hateful glance that he had surrendered to Anora's will. 

After all, it was the least he could have done after having hurt her so deeply. For many years, he had taught she didn't care for him, that all she did it was made out of duty. Now that it was too late, everything was clear to him. Cursing himself for having been such an idiot, he had composed a letter which contained all the truth, nothing but the truth. However, upon leaving his quarters to slip the letter under Anora's door, he had hesitated. 

Cailan had ended up hiding the letter among his clothes. After all these years, she deserved to hear it from his lips and he craved to see her expression the moment she would have known it all. He wouldn't have allowed anyone, let alone the darkspawn, to keep him away from Anora: he would have entered Denerim as the victorious King who had stopped the Blight before it could really hit the country.  
And finally the enemy appeared. Unlike his comrades, he wasn't afraid of those monsters: they couldn't be stronger than his desire to see her again. He let the archers and the Mabaris thin out the ranks, then he led the melee attack. As he crushed those monsters, every heartbeat screamed only one name: Anora, Anora, Anora.  
Now, that ogre was standing between him and Anora. So Cailan charged.

 

**_Earthquake of the soul_**

_9:31 Dragon_  
_Denerim Chantry_

The buzz had become so noisy that it could be heard from behind the door. Anora wondered how many people had come to witness the Queen and Hero of Ferelden walking to the altar together.  
She took a deep breath. Her fingers trembled for just a second before she tamed herself. Once, she had been carefree, frank, honest and ready to welcome feelings. Now, she could afford that risk no more. The world wanted an iron lady, a perfect, dignified queen, so she would have obeyed. Dane Cousland was her own way to show the world she was stronger than the loss of a husband, that her mourning was over and she was ready to commit herself to her own country. And this time, she would have stood on her own feet. 

After all, she couldn't trust anyone.  
Sure enough not her subjects, always ready to win her favor for their own benefit. Certainly not Dane Cousland: the Hero was a conceited, presumptuous man, undoubtedly gentle and good in his own way, but still a man who bore her no real affection and mainly concerned in restoring his family name. Which made him just perfect: she was done with searching for affection.  
And her father... He would have been there soon. The world required her to smile at him and take him by the arm, so she would have had to hide behind her iron queen mask all her hatred, disappointment and betrayal. Had her father not betrayed her, in time she could have gotten over her heartbreak over Cailan and maybe she would have gone to the altar with a lighter heart and the hope for a bright future. But her father, the only man she had always idolized, had done the only thing that could have ripped her world apart: for her sake, to punish him, he had caused Cailan's death. 

Two times in her life she had trusted someone, and two times her trust had been paid back with be betrayal. She wouldn't have let it happen again, simply because she wasn't sure she could have handled another blow. 

A brief knock on the door chased away those thoughts. She didn't need to ask who was on the other side.  
Anora Mac Tir stood and walked towards her destiny. 

****

**_§§_ **

_My dear Anora,_

_you must despise me, and I understand if you do._

_I can only hope that you'll be willing to listen when I'll come back from Ostagar._

_As hard as it could be, please believe me: it's not what it seems. I know it might sound like a pitiful excuse._

_It's not._

_You are the only person I've ever loved since the beginning. You've been special since the first time I've met you, and I was so proud in being the only one able to manage to get a true smile out of you. No one but you has remained by my side without wanting to change me into something I was not. You're the reason why I am now a believable king. But I've always been under no illusion: the special one, the walking deity has always been you._

_How could someone like me be worthy of your love?_

_Do you remember the first time I tried to kiss you? Your refusal has become a constant companion for me and has never left my side for all these years. I was so damn sure if you had had the chance to choose, you would never have married me. I had no doubt your affection for me was the one of a good friend. So, I was simply content with making you at least a little happy, and with making our marriage bearable. Those other women had never been more than a source of amour propre and a mean to give vent to my bitterness._

_I didn't refuse your advice in maintaining a diplomatic relationship with Orlais out of a desire for the Empress. On the contrary, I was hoping you would have been proud of me if I had managed to take care of a royal matter without your constant guidance, and a bit of harmless flattering had seemed to me a good way to start winning the Empress and Orlais' friendship. If only I had ever imagined that that flattering in your eyes wasn't harmless at all, my love, I would never have acted how I did. If only I had ever imagined you cared for me as a man and as your husband, I.._

_Maybe I will never earn your forgiveness. Maybe it's too late and I have lost you. But please, if you find in your heart to give me one last chance I'll do whatever it takes to treat you like my only queen. Please, my love, wait for me. Don't condemn me without giving me a chance to talk to you, without looking in my eyes._

_Yours,_

_Cailan_


End file.
